Copywrite - Eastern Conference Freestyle (A Long Rhyme Coming: The 1999 to 2002 Sessions Pt. 1) lyrics

[Intro: Mr. Eon] Ah. Ah. Eastern Conference. This is how it goes down. Uh, Copywrite, Cage, Mr. E, yo [Verse 1: Mr. Eon] Yo, I'll roam the blocks in the low post. And with the slow Roast, outgrow most and grow in soul, toast AND1 and dumb slum lord of tennis It's the phantom menace who leads the anthem wettest I got no morals like your wormy attorney So hungover, histories, they couldn't overturn me Ten new addictions the additions added To the twenty I already got—I'm still twisted As something's missing in my life, I can't fix My déjà vu is just a glitch in The Matrix Fashion yourself in the latest adornment I'll lay dormant—more than your Christmas ornaments Stadium organist, pro-p**n activist I hate these girls who claiming they be abstinent We feed ‘em absinthe and an Afghan spliff They're looking angelic when I crack them lips [Verse 2: Copywrite] I'll take your mic, spit, then unplug it, coward If it ain't about rap or p**y, I don't give a f** about it Written for written, you can't front. Your clan s**s f** it. You could spit my written. I'll come off the head like dandruff Search in the trunk of your Benz for money to spend I'll steal from anybody, especially one of my friends That goes double for the b**h you share your microphone with And those dumb enough to believe she writes her own sh** You ain't no enemy—my friends are worse Got a memory with an endless burst to serve any emcee Within this Earth, whether kin of me or friends since birth I'll k** you, hop in a rented Jeep, rear-end Your hearse. Ate your wife and a forensic nurse During your wake, cum in the john, getting head in church f** you, your mom, and your team of pawns, and if You don't believe in God, then you're calling me a fraud [Verse 3: Cage] I'll stick my skull out for anybody coming out This side of my neck. f**ing ugly white b**hes is a hobby Calling me out? I'm on the frontline, sleepwalking Three million sheep chalking up intestines for this meat coffin Run up in some fugly b**h, watching her soul Pick up my daughter shottie if she pick up daddy's dust envelopes The only b**h I listened to Tried to smuggle in some sh**, but I couldn't piss it through You want a bottom feeder puking a two-liter? Bash you when your crew trying to sneak out a gay theater Brittle, spinal towns screwed the vagina down Cut the body away, dipped it in acetate for vinyl clowns Stuffed my jacket with albino down first Chewing on my plane, starving, eating pa**engers